


Rude Awakening

by Nonesane



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Book/TV Series Mashup, D/s undertones, Discreet Gentlemen's Club (Good Omens), Flirting, Footnotes, Humor, M/M, Mutual Pining, Other, POV Outsider, Pining, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2020-05-13 04:23:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19243762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nonesane/pseuds/Nonesane
Summary: Crowley disappears for close to a century and then comes sauntering back into Aziraphale's life, nearly bringing about a riot as he does. Aziraphale is suitably miffed.





	Rude Awakening

**Author's Note:**

> As a long time fan of the book, it's a bit of a mystery why I've never managed to finish and post a fic in this fandom before now. The TV series and subsequent fandom awakening has been a wonderful experience and inspiration both! Be warned that his story is a hopeless mixture of TV canon and book-canon because I am old and this fandom lends itself so well to headcanons.
> 
> Oh, and also, while I'm 100% in favor of ace!Crowley and ace!Aziraphale, and will be writing that at some point in the future, I am a hopeless aro+bi person and cannot help but hint at smut in most of my writing.

Aziraphale gave many first impressions when one met him for the first time.[1] Across the millennia he'd cultivated an air about him that told you he, among other things, was a) completely harmless, b) attracted to members of whatever sex the observer assumed he had, and c) that he was gullible.  
  
All these assumptions were of course, extremely wrong.[2]  
  
But, humanity being humanity, it's no wonder the members of a certain discreet gentlemen's club had their doubts about one Mr Ezira Fell's understanding of the club's, well, _understanding_. It was soon to be the end of the 19th century, yet there were still perfectly harmless things best left unsaid in front of the wrong people. It had taken the club's human members decades to figure out if Mr Fell had joined their ranks on the behest of the authorities, to spy, or simply joined thinking it was like any other gentlemen's club. It had taken them yet longer to go from tentatively trusting in his apparent obliviousness to figuring out he actually knew perfectly well where he'd ended up.  
  
Plenty of the club members liked Mr Fell. He was ever so kind, if in a distant sort of way. He'd listen to your troubles, nod along to you talking about your interests, and tea always seemed to taste better when taken in his presence. He'd become a part of the club almost as much as the wallpaper and the grand piano.  
  
For many of the younger members, Mr Fell was a stable centre to their chaotic personal universes. For many of the older ones, he was a familiar face still there after many, many losses. Whenever Mr Fell entered a room it lit up, though more in the way it does when a favourite relative visits than in the more traditional sense of that simile.[3]  
  
Everyone conveniently ignored the fact that Mr Fell did not age. This was not a conscious decision, merely the result of spending too much time in close proximity to unreality.  
  
It wasn't until around 1903 when young Mr Garrideb began to speculate about Mr Fell's supposedly Tragic Past.  
  
"He must have lost a great love," Mr Garrideb sighed as only the young can sigh.  
  
"What makes you say that?" asked Mr Miller, always hungry for gossip.  
  
Mr Garrideb stole a glance over at the table where Mr Fell had begun a round of cards with some of the club's older members. "Haven't you noticed?"  
  
Mr Miller, too proper to go 'Noticed what?', merely raised an eyebrow in inquiry.  
  
Mr Garrideb, also too proper to roll his eyes at anyone, despite being only 20 years of age, lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. Mr Miller and their table's two other occupants, Mr Green and Mr Wright, leaned forward as much as politeness would allow.  
  
"It's so clear from all his personal anecdotes," Mr Garrideb said, eyes alight with sympathy and just a hint of morbid fascination. "He'll start one and then go quiet halfway through, as if there's someone he wishes to mention but it's too painful for him to do so. I almost got a name out of him once, purely by accident, but he cut himself off and then stared out the window for a full minute. Surely you've all discerned this?"  
  
Mr Miller, Mr Green, and Mr Wright nodded and resolutely refrained from confessing that they'd never actually asked Mr Fell to share personal anecdotes.  
  
"I wonder what happened to him," Mr Garrideb mused out loud, staring into the depths of his teacup as if the tea leaves could tell him all of life's secrets.[4] "He might be dead, or in prison, or simply not the right sort," by which Mr Garrideb meant a man who didn't seek the sort of company from other men for which their club had been created. "I wish I could help. I hate to see Mr Fell so terribly lonely."  
  
This time when the other young men nodded, they nodded along in true agreement. While only Mr Garrideb and Mr Green had romantic feelings for Mr Fell, they were all very fond of him and it truly pained them to learn of this perceived suffering of his. They all discreetly agreed to help cheer Mr Fell up in any and all possible ways they could without being too forward, and commenced a month long operation along those veins.  
  
Aziraphale, who while not gullible or oblivious did have his moments of not paying too close attention to what people said about him, worried about the poor lads. Clearly they were projecting deep hurt onto him and he did his best to figure out a way to ease whatever pained them so.  
  
But, as things are wont to do, other delicious drama pulled at the attention of the four young gentlemen. Their efforts to cheer up Mr Fell didn't completely fade away, but they simmered down to the everyday affections the club members over all showed Mr Fell.  
  
For a time, everything puttered along as normal. Or, well, as what humans perceive as normal. Normality is, of course, a huge galactic conspiracy which humanity has yet to figure out.  
  
While the young foursome's actions calmed down, gossip prevailed. Once Mr Garrideb had set the ball rolling, all club members soon knew of Mr Fell's supposed lost love. On nights that Mr Fell didn't attend the club – he could at times be absent for months, and was the only club member whose absence never worried other members, for some ineffable reason – the other members often speculated on the nature of what kind of a man could have caught and held Mr Fell's interest so.  
  
"I think they were the same age," said Mr Allen, one of the club's oldest members. He had a wistful look in his eyes as he spoke, leaving the rest of the club in hushed reverence. "I think they grew up together, grew close, and then one of them rejected the other. Far too common and tragic a tale."  
  
Mr Allen dabbed at his eyes with a kerchief and no one in the room mentioned that they thought he was projecting his own romantic failures onto Mr Fell. Just because someone used their own personal hardships when hypothesising about others it didn't mean those hypotheses were completely off the mark.  
  
"They used to go to dinner together," said Mr Green one late evening over a game of whist. "I'm sure that's why he never accepts invitations to dine privately with anyone." Mr Green was partially right in this assumption, and partially talking from a place of soothing his own ego, as Mr Fell on multiple occasions had declined to meet him for dinner outside of the club.  
  
"His eyes were a sight to see," said Mr Ward, who'd accomplished the daring task of getting Mr Fell properly drunk one evening.[5] "Slim, I think he was. Built like a dancer, or...or something." Mr Ward's memory had with practised ease replaced any and all references to Mr Fell's long lost companion having been a snake at one point with more sensible sounding shapes. "A man of sharp wit and bite. Oscar would have loved him, Mr Fell insisted."  
  
No one questioned Mr Ward. No one ever questioned someone how had been on first name basis with the late Oscar Wilde.  
  
Mr Fell had clearly gone on a long rant while in his cups, and the club's gentlemen hung on every word of it that Mr Ward could recall. As Mr Ward hadn't been completely sober himself at the time, and as drink tends to make men (and women, and children, and on one memorable occasion, a parrot) ramble on insensibly, this retelling of a retelling turned into a puzzle the gentlemen amused themselves with for a fortnight.  
  
In the end, the revelations the drunken ramble illuminated were that Mr Fell's lost love had been a great conversationalist and that he likely still lived but that Mr Fell had lost track of him and was really upset about that fact.  
  
Speculations ran wild after that, as speculations are wont to do.  
  
"Should I try and find him, do you think?" asked Mr Wright, who'd begun a career as a journalist.  
  
"Best not," Mr Green hurried to say. "You might reopen old wounds." Mr Green had decided, with little to no evidence other than his own jealousy, that Mr Fell's lost love had been either a leech or a cheat, and that he didn't deserve Mr Fell's attention or affections. "No, best we help him let go of the past and learn to love again."  
  
While most in the club agreed with this sentiment, they didn't attempt any outright matchmaking. Mr Fell had been a member of the club for a long time (though none of them could agree on exactly how long) and had never shown any interest in even the most blatant of flirting. So they settled back into speculating, and guessing, and simply having a grand time of figuring out such a fairly innocent mystery in a world full of much darker ones.  
  
It wasn't until 1905 that the speculations found an answer of sorts, though in no part thanks to Mr Fell. No, the embers of gossip were set into glorious blaze by a sudden invasion of the club's sanctum.  
  
"So _this_ is where you've been hiding."  
  
Everyone in the club froze at these words, some with their teacups halfway to their mouths. There had been handsome men in the club before. Some were, in that moment, still in it. There had been pretty men. There had been stunning men. There had been one who'd looked like Adonis incarnate.[6]  
  
There had, however, never been a visit from a man quite like This.  
  
"Hiding? _I_ have been hiding?!"  
  
This exclamation came from Mr Fell. Said exclamation froze the gentlemen of the club further, and made Mr Miller drop his teacup in pure astonishment. No one had heard Mr Fell raise his voice before in such indignation. In merry laughter, yes, and to ask people to quiet down please while he read his new book, but never in rage. The few times Mr Fell had shown any sign of anger before this day it had been the cold, quiet, disappointed sort of anger that made you feel guilty to the bone. And yet here he sat, red in the face and glaring. Glaring!  
  
The stranger, all dressed in sleek black, face half-hidden behind dark spectacles, sauntered over to Mr Fell's table without as much as flinching. His smile reminded the gentlemen of a knife's edge. His walk reminded them of things they rarely if ever spoke of in the presence of Mr Fell. Many of the club's members decided it a wise choice to remain seated until the stranger left the room, which he surely would have to do at some point.  
  
The stranger took a seat next to Mr Fell, even though tables Mr Fell sat at usually ended up fully occupied. The stranger didn't merely sit in the chair, though. Oh no, this man lounged as no club member had lounged before, which is an achievement in a club for discreet gentlemen. This casual sprawl left Mr Green in a tug-of-war between burning envy and burning lust, and Mr Garrideb entangled in delighted horror.  
  
Mr Fell put down his book. Mr Fell never put down a book he hadn't finished reading.  
  
The stranger kept up his smiling, calm as you please.[7]  
  
The gentlemen held their collective breaths, waiting.  
  
"Do stop this display." Mr Fell sat up straighter in his chair and pinned the stranger with a look that would have brought tears to the eyes of any other man the stranger's (apparent) age, and some older.  
  
"What display?" the stranger asked, all faux innocence. This made Mr Wright and Mr Ward have very dark and delicious thoughts of what they could do to quell such cheek.  
  
"You are being devilishly distracting." Mr Fell sounded torn, but none of the gentlemen could determine between which emotions. "It's most unlike you."  
  
"We haven't seen each other in a while. I'm trying something new."  
  
"Well, if you insist on acting the incubus for much longer, there will be a terrible mess. Cease at once!"  
  
The stranger's smile grew wider. Some of the gentlemen closest to Mr Fell's table began contemplating grabbing the stranger by his hair and wrenching him to his knees. These gentlemen had been seated at Mr Fell's table before the stranger entered the room. They hadn't noticed that they'd suddenly been moved to other tables.  
  
"I'm hardly incubusing," the stranger said. "Succubusing, yes, possibly concubusing." Here the stranger gave Mr Garrideb what could have been a meaningful look, if it hadn’t been hidden behind his dark spectacles. "Please tell me you know the difference, angel."[8]  
  
Mr Fell sidestepped this question with a will. "You have no idea what you're getting yourself into."  
  
The stranger's lounging increased. Even Mr Allen found his gaze tracing the slender lines of the stranger's throat, the delicate shape of his bared wrists. "But you do?"  
  
With a stern look upon his face, Mr Fell leaned forward. The stranger grew unnaturally still as Mr Fell spoke into his ear.  
  
Whatever Mr Fell whispered to the stranger, most of the gentlemen assumed it had been a warning regarding the tastes of some of the club's members. It was never spoken of aloud, even in this most discreet of companies, but it was an open secret that Mr Ward had a preference for taking younger men in hand in a most unusual manner, and that Mr Wright owned a lot of soft rope and knew a lot of knots though he'd never had a profession where such knowledge or equipment was of use. Since no one had complained of these two gentlemen – rather the opposite, in intimate conversations between close friends – no one had felt the need to call real attention to these facts.  
  
The stranger let out a hiss that sent shivers down several spines, followed by a groan, and: "Oh, that's cheating."  
  
All but a handful of the gentlemen let their imagination run down paths they'd never previously dared tread (or let their thoughts retread familiar and welcome streets). This meant only said handful noticed Mr Fell raise his hand as he leaned back from the stranger. They did not noticed him snap his fingers though, because that was the moment Aziraphale chose to pause time.  
  
"I was not aware we were playing a game, my dear boy," Aziraphale said to Crowley. The whisper _had_ been a warning, but not of the kind the gentlemen had assumed. Aziraphale had in vivid detail forewarned Crowley of Mr Garrideb's preference for cuddles and long walks on the beach, and Mr Allen's wishes for hour-long hand-holding sessions.  
  
"We weren't," Crowley grumbled. He remained lounging, but dialled down the Tempting to a mere smoulder. "Aren't, I mean. You know me, angel. I like to make an entrance."  
  
The sigh this comment pulled from Aziraphale was more fond than irritated. "That you do. Typical of you to vanish for a whole century and then almost bring about a riot."  
  
"I didn't vanish." Crowley managed to sound amazingly petulant for a being who'd existed since the beginning of time. "I was asleep."  
  
"For a hundred years?"  
  
"Eh, give or take a decade, yeah."  
  
Aziraphale muttered something about sloth, then followed that up a little louder with, "Well, I would very much like you to not make trouble from my friends here. They get enough of that as things stand."[9]  
  
"Fine." Crowley finally abandoned his lounging and moved on to slouching. "So, what do you do here all night? Seeing as lust is my side's kind of thing."  
  
"You're incorrigible."  
  
"Demon."  
  
Aziraphale sat up even straighter than before, which was an accomplishment. A faint look of embarrassment took a stroll across his face. "If you must know, the people here are good company and I've learnt a dance that’s just delightful. I am a member of several of these establishments, if you must know, but this one is my favourite and I will not have you bringing it into disorder.”  
  
" _You_ know how to-” Here Crowley interrupted himself, dance lessons apparently not as high on his list of revelations as what followed: ”...you're protecting them, aren't you?"  
  
"I shall not comment on that."  
  
A smile that Crowley refused to call affectionate made itself at home on his lips. "Ah, you big softie. Don't you think these grown men can take care of themselves?"  
  
Aziraphale raised a very meaningful eyebrow. "My dear boy, I know this century is new to you but surely you must have noticed the horrible trend of prejudice over the last millennium? Also, these gentlemen do not have the means of the club over in Portland Place. It’s only right that someone give them a helping hand now and again."  
  
"Did Wilde put you up to this?"  
  
"No, poor Oscar is five years gone and-" Aziraphale's words pumped on the breaks and skidded to a halt, immediately filling up on suspicion. The angel fixed his eyes on Crowley in a searching manner. "I thought you said you'd been asleep?"  
  
Crowley shrugged. He'd perfected the Casual Shrug Of Nonchalance some centuries back and was taking full advantage of it. "Got up for a bit in 1893. You two seemed quite chummy, walking arm-in-arm and everything."  
  
An ever so soft 'Oh' escaped Aziraphale. "Are you telling me," he said, ever so slowly, "that you were-"  
  
"Don't," Crowley said, far swifter and more honest than he'd intended.  
  
And Aziraphale didn't. There was a brief pause between them, full of ancient meaning and fear and hope. Then Aziraphale took a deep breath he both did and didn't need, before saying, "We have a bit of catching up to do, I think, and we should let Time get on with its business. Shall we find ourselves a quieter place to talk?"  
  
"Go out for dinner?" Quick to recover, Crowley leaned forward and gave Aziraphale a teasing smile. "You do know what your friends here will assume about us if you leave with me, don't you?"  
  
At this Aziraphale rolled his eyes. "I've been a member of this club for 43 years, my dear boy. They already _assume_ a great many things about me." He waved his hand at Crowley in an ushering motion. "Get back as you were. Better not give anyone a headache."  
  
Obediently Crowley returned to his full-on lounge, smirking all the while. Aziraphale too returned to his last time-based position before snapping his fingers again. At once, minutes, seconds, and hours flowed back into the room, returning breath and movement to the club's gentlemen.  
  
Crowley, just to be difficult, began to ooze a bit of Temptation again.  
  
"Who's cheating now," Aziraphale muttered, words which only the eager ears of Mr Miller caught.  
  
Crowley's eyes, shielded behind dark glass, positively twinkled.  
  
The gentlemen all watched with bated breath as the stranger and Mr Fell held each other's gazes. The air crackled between them, or at least so Mr Green would attest to curious listeners two weeks later.  
  
Patience is certainly a virtue, one many angels champion as the foremost one. Aziraphale did have a skill for delayed gratification, no matter what Crowley said, but it was a skill he only implemented when needed. This, he judged, was not an evening for patience.  
  
With speed impressive to anyone who hadn't seen Mr Fell dance the gavotte he got out of his chair and grabbed the stranger by one tantalisingly bare wrist, pulling him onto his feet in one swift motion. "That's quite enough of that, my dear."  
  
The stranger's mouth open in the barest hint of surprise. He didn't resist Mr Fell's grip.  
  
"Now, you've been gone for far too long," said Mr Fell, stepping ever so close to the stranger, hand still on his wrist, "and you will pay for it."[10]  
  
If Mr Miller swooned for a bit at this point he refused to ever admit it.  
  
"Angel, please," the stranger said, seemingly caught between shock, worry and Something Else. What that something else was, was anyone's guess, and the gentlemen eagerly guessed away, especially as the stranger mirrored Mr Fell in moving closer and whispered in his ear.[11]  
  
While the quiet conversation went on, the gentlemen did their best to find more comfortable positions in their chairs. Staying absolutely still can be hell on the human body, which was one of the reasons for the gentlemen's current discomfort.  
  
"Oh don't be angry with me," was the first audible thing the stranger said, words breathy and shaky. "Please allow me to make it up to you, please. I'll do _anything_."[12]  
  
How Mr Fell managed to keep a stiff upper lip in the face of such **heat** all but a handful of the gentlemen could guess at. Mr Fell merely smiled genially at the stranger and said, "I'm sure you will. Come along now, dear."  
  
The stranger let out a noise as Mr Fell gave his wrist a light squeeze. Mr Miller and Mr Wright argued for a long time afterwards if it had been a helpless moan or a hopeful one.  
  
"A good evening to you, gentlemen," Mr Fell said, not letting go of the stranger. "I will see you next Thursday. A pleasant night to you all!"  
  
As the two walked out - well, one walked and one sauntered - the stranger caught Mr Green's eyes with his dark glasses and smirked. Mr Green did not mention this to anyone, but both Mr Garrideb and Mr Miller saw it happen so all soon knew why Mr Green spent the next week in such a foul temper.  
  
The second the stranger and Mr Fell were out the door the room erupted in furious whispers.  
  
Outside the room, Aziraphale let go of Crowley's wrist. He did not see Crowley open his mouth to say something (a something that, until Crowley caught himself, was going to be "Don't let go"), but he did see the self-satisfied smirk that Crowley covered his almost-words with.  
  
"Might need to do this a few more times," Crowley said once they'd retrieved their outdoor clothing and ventured into the streets of London. He hurriedly added, "for Mr Green to get the point, I mean. He seems the stubborn type."  
  
"He is that." Aziraphale spoke with fondness that rankled Crowley, but this annoyance was quickly doused by Aziraphale continuing, "It's good to see you again. I missed you."  
  
"Of course you missed me," Crowley said, meaning 'I missed you too'.  
  
Arm in arm they made their way into the night.  
  
Up in the tearoom, some gentlemen sat up late to gossip. The others did…other things, in other, more private rooms.  
  
Until the day the club closed its doors for good, Mr Fell remained a steady presence in it. The stranger, whose name never managed to find its way into any conversation for some mystical reason, did appear now and then to stir things up. After a few years, not even Mr Green minded it overly much. Mr Fell was clearly happier, and in the end, wasn't happiness the most important thing of all?  
  


********

* * *

[1]Sometimes first impressions happen when meeting someone for the second time. Usually, the consumption of alcohol or drugs features heavily in these scenarios.  
  
[2]a) Angels are creatures of awesome power, b) Angels have no sex or gender unless they really wish to, and c) in some instances, but over all, definitely not.  
  
[3]More than a few club members had deep affection for Mr Fell. The kind of affection that makes you write silly love poems and dream about growing old with your Special Someone. Some of the club members had no interest in the more carnal sides of love so the lack of such desires did not surprise them, while others found themselves questioning themselves because, to quote one gentleman's thoughts, _Oh dear God the innocent sweetness of this, what is the matter with me?!_  
  
[4]They couldn't tell him any secrets, but Mr Garrideb did have enough of a psychic talent to push through the veil of Please Ask No Personal Questions And Pass The Biscuits that Aziraphale instinctively radiated.  
  
[5]It had been an expensive affair, though more in abstinence than in money. Mr Fell had a reputation of being able to drink anyone under the table and Mr Ward had an unhealthy relationship with alcohol, but was also a gossip to rival Mr Miller. The hunger for gossip had won out over the hunger for drink, this time, and he'd managed to talk more than he'd imbibed while Mr Fell had gone through several bottles of wine all on his own.  
  
[6]Aziraphale had felt very put-upon that Gabriel should visit him during what he considered his off hours.  
  
[7]If Crowley hadn't been putting every ounce of his demonic powers into being Tempting at that moment, it's likely even Mr Green could have seen how utterly wracked with nerves he was.  
  
[8]There is a long-standing misconception that succubi are always female and that incubi are always male. In reality, demons, like angel, rarely bother with gender. Instead, succubus stems from the Latin word _succubare_ "to lie under" and incubus comes from _incubare_ "to lie on", so the titles of 'succubus' and 'incubus' refer to the kind of sexual tempting that particular demon is inclined towards. There is also the lesser known 'concubus', from the Latin word for "to lie with/beside", where the demon in question is more flexible about what kind of tempting they're aiming for. Aziraphale did not know this. Yet.  
  
[9]As is well known, Heaven and Hell both have trouble imagining any kind of greyzone between Good and Evil. Most sins and virtues are therefore invented by humans, then later interpreted by demons and angels. The supposed sin of Lust only ever damned you if you hurt someone in your pursuit of said Lust; a fact of which Aziraphale and Crowley were aware despite the ignorance of the rest of their respective organisations. This said, starting either an orgy or a jealous brawl could lead to terrible human consequences, and Aziraphale was not having that.  
  
[10]By this, Aziraphale of course meant pay for dinner, likely several dinners, but the gentlemen naturally took it to mean any number of other things.  
  
[11]The whispered conversation between Crowley and Aziraphale went as follows:  
"Angel, you have no idea the wicked things the man in the grey waistcoat thinks you capable of."  
"Mr Wright has always had a very vivid imagination."  
"How do you wish me to play this?"  
"You are the one for dramatic exits and entrances, dear. Do as you like."  
"Those are dangerous words."  
"Don't be silly. Or do be. As I said, they already assume plenty of things about me here. Also, I'd be grateful to get Mr Green out of my hair, at least for a while."  
"That can be arranged."  
  
[12]Crowley, being a demon, was laying it on thick here, but he was also genuinely worried that Aziraphale still might be a bit vexed with him, so apologising seemed the thing to do. Disguising said apology as a shot at tempting some mortals also seemed the thing to do. Demons couldn't go around apologising, at least not too obviously.

**Author's Note:**

> Credit to [this tumblr post](https://aimofdestiny.tumblr.com/post/164303947660/dateamonster-original-theory-succubi-are-always) for the wonderful succubus/incubus/concubus idea.


End file.
